


Wanderlust

by FugalGear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Depression, Drabble, Drug Use, Gen, No Rich/Jim but you can read that into it if you prefer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FugalGear/pseuds/FugalGear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, sadness grows around people like moss and vines on a tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wanderlust

It all started with Jim, of course. Monkey see, monkey do, and where Jim was a wayward adventurer, Richard was an unquestioning follower.

With age Jim immersed himself in his calling and grew away from his immature distractions, from trying on different brands of self-destruction and peering in the mirror to decide which one suited him best.

But sadness grows around people like moss and vines do a tree, and it is warm and familiar and inescapably there and God, sometimes Richard wanted to shrug it free, and occasionally he could hack back those vines, even though they always creep right back up.

He wishes he never followed Jim into all of those dark places and tried on their temptations, because looking in the mirror he never did like what he saw. He wishes, and he feels the needle prick his skin and he doesn't have to think about how good that sadness looked draped over his shoulders.

Life trudges along, steady and certain and it's sickening because Richard knows it's neither.

He reaches out to anyone and everyone in hopes that someone will touch him, hoping constantly that he will find someone to touch that will fulfill him, whom, when their skins are parted, Richard will feel warmth where his moss has been peeled away.

He longs in kind to touch the people he cares about because he knows in life physicality is the closest thing to masquerade as reality and so the smooth caress of absent fingers is the only currency he accepts.

Richard is in stasis. It doesn't matter what he does because he's shuffling through the passing days like anybody else. It doesn't matter what he does because he knows how his story ends and he could do anything he could possibly dream of with his life and he'd still get the same answer and the same ending so really he's glad that he followed Jim, years ago. Jim kept searching, left him behind. Richard figured himself lucky for finding his niche so soon, proud that he settled down before his brother.

So he closes his eyes and waits for that metallic kiss to work its magic and repeats his mantra of 'hold me, hold me, I'm so high's' and wonders if anyone ever sees his vines or his moss or wonders how he moves so easily under their heavy blanket or knows that underneath it all he's been decomposing for decades.


End file.
